


some things you just can't plan

by slightlytookish



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1698302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlytookish/pseuds/slightlytookish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost as soon as his tattoo appears, Enjolras figures out a way to avoid finding his soulmate. Unfortunately for him, the universe seems to have a different idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	some things you just can't plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [literaldinosaur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaldinosaur/gifts), [ronsoftie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronsoftie/gifts).



Almost as soon as his tattoo appears, Enjolras figures out a way to avoid finding his soulmate.

Courfeyrac makes fun of him for it, and Combeferre just shakes his head and sighs, and both of them say that he'll never be able to keep it up forever, but Enjolras is nothing if not determined. 

(And incredibly stubborn, as his friends are so quick to point out).

But even they can't deny that Enjolras' methods have kept him safe from the whole soulmate business for years now and, as long as he's careful, should keep him from having to bother with that nonsense forever. 

And it is nonsense; the whole idea that a tattoo with some random phrase is what determines the person you should spend the rest of your life with is completely ridiculous to him. Enjolras doesn't understand how more people don't see it for what it is – just another old, archaic system that turns people into sheep, that keeps them chained to tradition and distracts them from focusing on what's really important in the world – on the things that they could change, if only they paid attention and did something about them. 

It baffles Enjolras that even the most intelligent people he knows go along with it – even people like Combeferre and Courfeyrac, though to be fair, they ended up being each other's soulmates. Enjolras could see why they would be happy with the way everything turned out.

So, all right, even he has to admit that occasionally the soulmate thing works. Well, more than just occasionally, if he's being truly honest with himself. Enjolras has eyes, and the fact that most of his friends have found their soulmates and appear to be perfectly content hasn't escaped his attention. But that doesn't mean that he has to bother with it himself. Enjolras has a whole world to change, and he doesn't want or need the distraction of a soulmate. Luckily for him, the very nature of his tattoo ensures that the whole idiotic process is something that he could easily avoid.

He's always assumed that the large, looping letters that form _how do you spell that?_ just below his ribcage have something to do with his name. And so whenever he must give his name in any professional or official setting – at school, or at the doctor's office, or when he's at the police station being detained for leading a protest – he makes sure to spell out his name right from the start so there isn't any confusion (and no chance that his soulmate will end up being a cop). At other times, and in more casual settings, he uses a fake name more often than not – a nice, short, easy to spell name that no one could ever possibly question. 

As a whole, Enjolras' system works incredibly well. He's only ever had one scare, and that was when Marius made a reservation at some fancy restaurant for Cosette's 21st birthday. When Enjolras asked for her table, there was one heart-stopping moment when the ancient maître-d peered down at his book and said, "How do you spell… Cosette?" Joly had been right behind him when it happened, and had nearly pissed himself laughing at Enjolras' horrified face.

But with only that one near-mishap in his experience, it's no wonder that Enjolras doesn't think anything of it when he steps into his favorite coffee shop one morning and sees a new barista in place of Eponine. He places his regular order (a latte with three shots of espresso, because if Enjolras has to be awake at this hour he's going to need some help) and gives his usual pseudonym (Tom). And then, just as he's moving down the counter to wait for his coffee, disaster strikes.

"How do you spell that?"

Enjolras feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he slowly turns to face the barista. By some early morning miracle they are the only two people in the shop, so there's no chance that the question might have been directed to someone else. He stares hard at the barista as he reaches for a cup, his eyes darting between the guy's dark curls and stubbled jaw before finally settling on the nametag he's wearing (Grantaire, Enjolras notes distantly, and that looping scrawl spelling out his name looks horribly familiar), and finds himself speechless for the first time in his life due to sheer panic. 

"You can't be serious," he manages after a long moment, because a) is this really happening right now, b) how does someone not know how to spell Tom, and c) _is his soulmate really someone that can't spell Tom????_

(This is why Enjolras needs to tear down the old world order).

"Well, yeah," says Grantaire, not even looking at him as he uncaps a sharpie with his teeth (and there's _no way_ that Enjolras should find that even a little bit hot, it's unsanitary and gross and why is it making him _blush_ , this soulmate crap is the absolute _worst_ ) and poises it over the cup. "I mean, your name could be spelled T-O-M or it could be T-H-O-M and everyone always gets my name wrong so I guess I'm sensitive – oh my god wait, what did you just say?" 

*

Grantaire doesn't get up this early for just anyone, but when Eponine asks him to switch shifts with her – there's some crisis involving Gavroche and her parents that makes her look brittle with stress and exhaustion, and Grantaire always hates seeing her like that – of course he says yes.

Anyway, working at the café at this extremely early hour isn't as bad as he expected. The morning rush hasn't started yet, and the few people that trickle in are quieter and more subdued than the ones Grantaire gets in the late afternoons or evenings when he's usually working. Best of all, so far no one has lingered longer than the time it takes him to prepare their drinks so Grantaire has the place all to himself. He sneakily props his sketchpad against the espresso machine, out of sight of anyone on the other side of the counter, and the lag time between customers allows him to put the finishing touches on a couple of pieces that he has to turn in to his professor that afternoon.

He's nearly finished when the door opens and he glances up just in time to see what could only be a mythical creature walk into the café. 

The guy looks like a museum piece come to life – all golden Renaissance curls like some kind of righteous angel descending from the heavens with trumpeters playing in the background, or maybe he's more like a Greek statue with his flawless skin and perfect profile. Grantaire can't decide, and he knows that he's staring with his jaw literally dropped like an absolute idiot but he can't help it. He's torn between hoping that this guy will stay for a while so that he can just look at him, and wishing that he'd leave quickly so he could sketch him without feeling like a total creep.

But first he has a job to do, and it takes every effort for Grantaire to say hello and ask for his order like a normal human being. The guy is either completely oblivious or else really used to everyone fawning over him all the time because he doesn't appear to notice that Grantaire is blushing and stammering at him. Whatever it is, Grantaire's grateful, and forces himself to look away as he keys in the order on the register and takes the guy's money. 

Grantaire hands him his change, blushes harder when their fingers briefly touch, and sternly tells himself not to say anything foolish. "What's your name?" he asks instead, even though it's not necessary – they only ever ask for names when the café is very busy, but Grantaire is not letting this opportunity pass him by.

"Tom," the guy says and, okay, Grantaire knows it's ridiculous but he can't help feeling a little disappointed. Tom seems too average a name for someone who looks like _that_.

"How do you spell that?" he says, still not trusting himself to look at him. There's an incredibly long pause, and Grantaire's about to glance over and see if the guy pulled on some earbuds or is just ignoring him when the answer finally comes.

"You can't be serious."

There's a note of disdain in his voice, and surprise, and something else that sounds like panic, but that doesn't make any sense. At least Grantaire knows now that the guy's an asshole. Really, he shouldn't be surprised; it's the sort of thing that always happens to him. 

"Well, yeah," he says, sighing inwardly as he uncaps his sharpie. "I mean, your name could be spelled T-O-M or it could be T-H-O-M and everyone always gets my name wrong so I guess I'm sensitive – oh my god wait, what did you just say?" 

And here Grantaire lets his sharpie fall to the floor with a clatter because he has _you can't be serious_ tattooed above his ankle and he's spent so much of his life trying to figure it out, forever waffling between being serious and being as flippant as possible, always trying to determine which path would best help him thwart the whole soulmate thing (because really, who would want to be stuck with someone like him?) and it happened anyway. At work. With a gorgeous jerk named Tom.

Who, when Grantaire finally meets his eyes, looks stunned and confused and has gone very, very red in the face. "I can't believe this," he says before turning away to sink into the nearest chair and bury his head in his hands.

And, ouch, Grantaire's always expected to be a disappointment to his soulmate but this hurts a little more than he anticipated. Still, he feels for the guy and hesitates for a moment before he goes over to the door and locks it, flipping the open sign to closed for good measure. Eponine will have his head if she finds out, but hey, it's not every day that you have to console your soulmate because they have the misfortune of being stuck with you.

Grantaire hesitates again as he approaches the table before finally taking a seat next to Tom (and he still can't get used to that name, it just sounds wrong somehow). He's still hunched miserably in his chair and doesn't acknowledge Grantaire's presence even when he clears his throat a few times. At least he isn't crying. Yet.

"Look," Grantaire says at last, never feeling more awkward than he does at that moment. "I know I'm not a prize. I don't blame you for being disappointed, and I don't expect you to go along with this." And Grantaire gets it, he really does, especially when he imagines how he must look to this guy – dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, two days of stubble because he couldn't be bothered to shave, and hair in complete disarray because he can't remember the last time he got it cut. 

"What?" the guy says, finally tearing his hands away from his face and sitting up properly. His gaze, when it meets Grantaire's, seems genuinely perplexed. "That's not what I was thinking at all."

Grantaire can't help laughing at that. "Yeah, right." The guy is glaring at him now, and has the nerve to look insulted, which only makes Grantaire laugh harder. "Well, if that's what you want to tell yourself, fine. But like I said, I don't blame you. It's a fucked up system. I mean, why should having some random tattoos on our bodies mean that we're soulmates?" An unpleasant thought suddenly occurs to him. "Um, you do have a tattoo somewhere, right? I haven't just misread the whole situation, have I?"

The affronted glare is gone now, replaced by some very intense staring. Avenging angel it is, Grantaire decides, half expecting a whole choir of them to crash through the windows at any moment. The day has been weird enough already. But then it gets even weirder, because he lifts up his shirt – Grantaire's mind whites out around the edges as he wonders why this guy is stripping in the middle of the café, and then wonders why he's questioning his good fortune – and wait, he's not actually undressing, he's only showing Grantaire the tattoo just beneath his ribs on the right side. _How do you spell that?_ , in Grantaire's own handwriting. He can't help staring at it for a long moment, because if this is his one chance to see it then Grantaire needs to do everything in his power to remember what it looks like. And then, because it's only fair, he rolls up the cuff of his jeans to show off his own tattoo.

"That's my writing," the guy says, letting his shirt drop (much to Grantaire's disappointment) in order to lean forward and peer down at the small, crabbed letters forming, _You can't be serious._ His expression shifts into something that looks like awe before the intense look suddenly returns, and it's directed right at Grantaire. "Did you mean what you said before? About soulmates?"

Despite everything Grantaire feels his heart sink a little because he knows what this is – a way for both of them to let each other off the hook and go their separate ways, and as much as Grantaire has always dreaded meeting his soulmate and has always expected it to go horribly wrong, knowing that it's really turning out like this is discouraging.

"Yeah," Grantaire says, thinking that he might as well get it over with quickly. "If more people stopped to think about it instead of clinging on to tradition, I think they'd see how absurd the whole thing is."

The guy is nodding already like he's in complete agreement and this is an old, familiar rant for Grantaire, one that his friends have heard dozens of times, so it's almost easy to ignore his crushing feelings of disappointment and plunge on. "Especially when you consider how many people have _hi_ or _hey_ as a tattoo, I mean, how does that even work when there are literally hundreds or thousands of potential soulmates out there? I guess you could match the handwritings but if it's someone you met in kindergarten, what then? It's a faulty system and, okay, it works most of the time and I wouldn't want to take away anyone's happiness or anything, but I think there should be more choice involved and less blind acceptance of… and I'll just shut up now," Grantaire concludes, because the guy's stare has grown even more intense, if that's possible, and he's gazing at Grantaire like he's – proud, or pleased, or maybe even a little bit infatuated, and Grantaire would give anything to have that look directed at him every day but it can't be right at all; he must be imagining it. 

But maybe Grantaire isn't so far off the mark because guy says, "I never expected – I never thought I'd meet–" He trails off abruptly and closes his eyes as if he's trying to gather his thoughts, and when he opens them again he looks at Grantaire like he's seeing him for the first time. "Oh fuck it, I could kiss you right now."

Of all the reactions Grantaire expected, that definitely isn't one of them. "WHAT." 

"Would you mind it if I did?" he asks, and he's actually fidgeting with his hands, restlessly curling his fingers around each other and the edge of the table like he's nervous or something.

Grantaire feels a hysterical laugh bubbling in his chest at the thought. "Are you kidding me? Of course I wouldn't mind. Has _anyone_ ever minded kissing you? Because I can't imagine that."

The guy narrows his eyes. "I don't want you to think that you have to, just because of the whole soulmate thing. That would go against everything I believe in. I agree with you that everyone should have a choice–"

"Good, because I'm choosing this," Grantaire says, and he has no idea what's going on but he's not passing up a chance to pull this guy into a kiss.

*

When the kiss ends Enjolras is out of breath and sprawled half in Grantaire's lap. He doesn't really want to move but thinks it's probably the polite thing to do, only when he tries to return to his own chair Grantaire tugs him even closer. He's not looking at Enjolras, though; Grantaire's got his face pressed to Enjolras' neck and Enjolras can feel his curls brushing against his jaw and all of it is so distracting that he just blurts the first thing that comes to mind. "My name isn't Tom."

"Thank god," Grantaire says, his voice muffled because he doesn't seem inclined to move any time soon. "I mean, what? Really?"

"It's just a name I used to keep from finding my soulmate." It strikes Enjolras that that's probably not the best thing to say to the person that happens to be his soulmate, and Courfeyrac and Combeferre would certainly remind him that he's being insensitive again, but luckily he feels Grantaire's answering smile against his neck.

"That worked so well for you," Grantaire says, and Enjolras loves that he can hear the grin in his voice, too. "Are you going to tell me your real name or do I have to guess?"

"It's Enjolras," he says, and it feels so strange just to say it without spelling it first but he supposes he's going to have to get used to that now. He will have to get used to a lot of new things, actually.

"Enjolras?" Grantaire laughs and sits up to meet his gaze, and this close his eyes are such a bright blue that Enjolras can't believe he didn't notice them earlier. "I was Joly and Bossuet's roommate last semester. They're always trying to get me to come to your meetings."

"I thought they said their roommate's name was R," Enjolras says, because he remembers hearing about that roommate, the art student that moved out when Joly and Bossuet finally found Musichetta because there wasn't enough room for everyone, and he knows he would have remembered a name like Grantaire.

Grantaire shrugs and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, "Pun." Enjolras can't keep from smiling, especially when Grantaire adds, "I might have to come to one of those meetings now."

"Is that so?"

"There's this guy, I think his name is Tom? I'd like to get to know him better." Grantaire meets Enjolras' grin with one of his own, though it falters a little after a moment. "I meant what I said before, you know. You don't have to go along with this if you don't want to."

An hour ago Enjolras would have expected to jump at the chance, but now the thought makes him feel oddly resistant. Still, he has to give Grantaire the same opportunity to choose. "Neither do you."

"I'm not the one that was using a fake name to avoid meeting my soulmate," Grantaire points out, and he has Enjolras there. 

"I don't think I will ever change my mind entirely about soulmates," Enjolras says slowly, thinking it through, and he doesn't imagine the way that Grantaire ducks his head to hide his disappointed expression. The sight makes Enjolras' heart clench in a way he isn't used to and he doesn't quite know what to make of that just yet, so he keeps talking. "I don't think any of this will stop me from trying to help people realize that they have a choice in the matter. But… I also used to think that having a soulmate would be a distraction that I didn't have time for. I was certain that a soulmate would keep me from focusing on the cause."

"And now?" Grantaire says quietly, as if he isn't sure that he wants to hear the answer.

"You're already a distraction," Enjolras says, because it's the truth, even if it makes Grantaire lower his head even more. "But one I could make time for – one that I _want_ to make time for."

"Do you really mean that?" The undisguised hope in Grantaire's eyes when he finally looks up makes something warm and happy bloom in Enjolras' chest, and he can think of no better response than tugging Grantaire into another kiss.


End file.
